


Lazarus Rising

by Char7



Series: Thomas Hamilton series [2]
Category: Black Sails
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-17
Updated: 2015-12-17
Packaged: 2018-05-07 04:36:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,946
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5443541
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Char7/pseuds/Char7
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the aftermath of Charles Town.  Follow up to "Judas' Kiss".</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lazarus Rising

**Author's Note:**

> Follow up to "Judas' Kiss".

Thomas Hamilton slowly walked the dirt streets of Charles Town, his eyes taking in the destruction that lay of what was once a flourishing young city. Few people shuffled among the ruins, perhaps because only a few remained. And half of those were huddled in whatever safe shelter they could find, fearing a threat that had since parted their shores. 

A threat named Captain Flint. 

The name of one of the most feared pirates of the seas made those survivors shudder with fear. It made Thomas bow his head in shame. His failure a decade ago in England had led to this. He knew that. He knew in his heart that, somehow, this was on him. It was a feeling of foreboding me could not shake no matter how much logic tried to dissuade it. 

With it came all the second guessing he thought he had put behind him. If only he had succeed a decade ago in his mission. If only he’d planned a counteract against his father before his father could destroy him and those he loved. If only he hadn’t trusted Peter Ashe. If only Nassau had been reclaimed by England. If only the pirates had been pardoned then perhaps none of this would be. Not for the citizens of Charles Town. Not for the men who sailed under the black. Not for himself. Certainly not for James McGraw. Nassau might he a safe and prosperous place. The men who now raided the waters might be working as honest laborers or merchants. James might be alive and by his side . . . . If only . . . 

Thomas gently rubbed the non-existent scar on his neck left behind by the noose he’d fashioned one night over a decade ago in Bethlem Hospital. The night Peter Ashe had brought him the devastating news of James and Miranda’s deaths at sea. The scar was visible to no one but him. He felt it rather than saw it. There were times, like this moment, when it felt like that noose was around his neck still, choking the life from him. 

He’d been fading into the dark abyss that night in Bethlem, praying that God would grant him one merciful request on the other side -- that he would be allowed to beg James and Miranda for their forgiveness before his soul met its fate. 

The screaming had barely penetrated the fog of his brain. It was common to hear screams in Bethlem, day and night, hours of never ending screams. But these were right next to him. It was his nurse, he would later come to realize. She had returned to check on him once Peter Ashe had been escorted out. She had found him in time to call for help. 

Thomas wasn’t aware of much after hearing the sound of her voice. Being lifted from the noose. Blackness. Words he could hear but made no sense to him. Opening his eyes to a place he didn’t recognize. His father’s stern face. 

His youngest brother, Henry, had later told him that he’d been transported to one of Alfred’s residences to be attended by a private physician. He’d lingered between life and death for nearly a week, drifting in and out of consciousness. 

London was abuzz with his fall from grace, even reports of his demise he later learned. The gossips gleefully spread the tale of how his faithless wife had ran away with his best friend, driving him to madness and eventual suicide. He’d not been sure who knew he was alive, nor did he really care. His father knew, of course. Peter Ashe did, too. He had a vague memory of hearing Alfred and Peter arguing beside his bed. His brothers, Richard and Henry knew. 

Richard never visited him. The dutiful middle son was basking in the glow of becoming Alfred’s heir apparent. For even if the world knew Thomas lived, he’d never he considered suitable to inherit Alfred’s title, estates and wealth now. He supposed that had been his father’s intent all along. It was more than just mere politics regarding Nassau. Thomas defied him and refused to bend to his will. Alfred would never stand for that in an heir. He wanted someone easy to control who would do as ordered. Richard fit that description. And so Richard had stepped into the part their father offered and played it perfectly.

Henry, on the other hand, was a bit more like himself. Thomas admired the boy‘s willfulness. Alfred had never paid much attention to his youngest son, mainly because he had seen no need to. Like all children, though, Henry had wanted his father’s admiration. But he also looked up to Thomas for his ability to stand up to Alfred Hamilton, a stance Henry himself had not found the courage to take until Thomas’ commitment. Henry had defied their father by supporting him and had continued to visit regularly even after Alfred sent him to one of the Hamilton’s small estates in the country. 

In retrospect, that had been the only good thing Alfred had ever done for him. He’d recovered there in that quiet countryside. He had mourned the loss of his beloved James and Miranda. He’d prayed for their peace in the afterlife. There he had finally made his decision to live. Live was perhaps too strong a word. He’d simply decided to not end his own life. 

Remaining in this world without James was his self-inflicted punishment for what he had done to the man he loved and to his wife. He’d destroyed James’ career and reputation. He’d cost Miranda the life she knew and loved. Because they had stood with him against his father they had been forced to flee the country. And, as Peter Ashe had later brought the crushing news to him, they had lost their lives in a shipwreck while en route to the Americas. 

And so, for their memory, he had lived in his father’s country estate with only a few servants watching his every move and reporting back to Alfred, ensuring he did nothing to “embarrass” the Hamilton name again. He’d had no friends, only the visits from Henry. And his books. Henry had brought them to him upon his request. They were the only thing from his old life he wanted to keep. And one in particular -- “Meditations” by Marcus Aurelius. His favorite book that he had shared with both Miranda and James in their lives. 

James had loved it the same as he. Thomas had read from it to him while they lay in bed together. He’d even gifted the book to his Lieutenant, tenderly inscribing the feelings James was shy about vocalizing. James said he would treasure the book but had been forced to leave it with Thomas for safe-keeping while he traveled to Nassau. Thomas saw the wisdom in that. The book and its inscription could easily have fallen into the wrong hands aboard James’ ship as he traveled to New Providence Island. The book had been in his study the night his father’s men came for him. 

That book was the one thing he wanted but Henry had said he couldn’t find it. His brother insisted he searched Thomas’ study, his room and the entire house. He had collected all the books there, but “Meditations” was no where to be found. 

Thomas believed him. Mainly because he knew what likely became of it. Alfred Hamilton. His father had no doubt destroyed it. Henry had bought him a new copy. It was a kind gesture but his brother would never understand the meaning of his original version.

Thomas was unsure how long he had resided in the country side. Weeks tended to blur into months after a time. But then Henry had visited with grim news. 

Alfred Hamilton was dead. Henry had hesitantly given him the details. Alfred and his mistress had been brutally murdered aboard the “Maria Aleyne” by a pirate newly risen among the ranks of Nassau. A man known only as Captain Flint. He was brutal, reports said. Soulless. A monster that seemed to despise England and wanted only to wreak havoc on the seas. 

Henry was worried for how he would take the news, if he would blame himself. After all, he had fought for a pardon for the pirates. A battle that had ultimately cost Thomas everything he held dear. His father had fought against his plan and it had cost Alfred his life at the hands of a pirate captain. He didn’t blame himself though. He didn’t even blame his father. He just accepted it as another chapter in the brutal irony of life. 

As he’d suspected, Alfred’s last will and testament had named Richard his heir and his brother carried on their father’s agendas as expected. 

For Thomas, their father’s death had allowed him a new found freedom. Richard had gladly left his “care” to Henry who was quick to dismiss the servants paid to keep constant scrutiny on him. Henry had wanted him to return to London but Thomas had expressed a desire to travel instead. His younger brother had supported him in that. 

So travel he had. First to Spain for a time. Then Italy and France. In Paris, he had spontaneously decided to follow in the footsteps of James and Miranda. He had booked passage to the American Colonies. As he had requested from the crew, one of them told him when they passed near the spot the “Pegasus” had sank in a storm, claiming the lives of all aboard, including James and Miranda. He’d stood on the deck, the breeze in his face and thoughts of them haunting him. He tried not to imagine what it was like for them, the fear Miranda must have felt when the hurricane ripped their ship apart. She had never cared much for the sea. James would’ve been stoic, though. Defiant to the last. At least they had had one another in their final moments. 

Instead, he tried to focus on their lives. The friendship he’d had in Miranda. Her grace and dignity. James with his wit and intelligence. The intensity that burn just beneath his surface. The fighting spirit that had led to James telling Alfred Hamilton to leave his own home and his father complying. The memory made him smile still, even if that moment had put James in Alfred’s crosshairs. 

He missed them. He ached with it. Being on the ocean had brought so many memories of James back. The smell of his hair, the salty taste of his skin. That dashing smile that had always made his heart beat faster when it was flashed his way. There on the deck of that ship, he had tossed his second copy of “Meditations” overboard and said his final good-byes to them. 

The New World was what the Colonies were called and Thomas found it to be just that. A place to start fresh and become a new person. He’d settled in Boston and taken a teaching job there. He’d made new friends. Dined with them and attended the theater. Henry sent him a bank draft every two months but he never cashed them. He did, however, enjoy his brother’s detailed letters. Henry had married the daughter of a Duke and even found himself becoming involved in politics, often siding against Richard whose flame was dimming without Alfred there to instruct him. Thomas was proud of Henry, but cautioned him of the deadly waters he was wading into. Politics was far more dangers than piracy, James had once told him, only half joking.

He had even allowed himself to read and respond to a letter Peter Ashe had sent to him. Peter had written to him regularly since learning he’d moved to Boston. The early letters had begged Thomas for his forgiveness for betraying him all those years ago. Thomas had granted it, this time sincerely. He reasoned that there was no way Peter could’ve foreseen the tragedy awaiting them when he’d aligned himself with Alfred. Blaming him just seemed to prolong Thomas’ own pain.

Peter had written asking Thomas to visit him in Charles Town. That offer he had declined without malice. Boston was his new home. There he had found a type of peace. He wasn‘t sure he would call it happiness but it was a start. 

And then this Captain Flint had returned. 

He had been in Williamsburg in the Virginia colonies, visiting a friend who had moved there to teach at William And Mary. His friend was trying to persuade him to accept a position on the staff when a commotion among the students had drew their attention. A student had informed him of word from Charles Town that pirates had attacked and decimated the city. Thomas had first thought it an exaggeration but then, later that day, conformation of the murder of the Governor, Peter Ashe, had reached him. He’d packed immediately and traveled straight to Charles Town to see for himself. 

It was no exaggeration, he grimly realized, taking in the destruction that lay all around. It was beyond anything he could have imagined. Nearly the entire town was leveled. 

A man named Colonel William Rhett, whose job it had been to protect the Governor, had barely survived the assault. Rhett informed Thomas of what had happened as he lay in his hospital bed. 

A pirate by the name of Charles Vane had written to Ashe, saying he had taken Peter’s only child Abigail and wanted a ransom for her. But then this Captain Flint had arrived in a Spanish Man O‘War, claiming that he wanted to safely return the girl for no ransom. His only request was an audience with Lord Ashe. Peter had met with Flint and a female companion of his, at which point they had made an attempt on Ashe’s life. The woman had been killed and Flint captured and made to stand trial for his crimes. Then Flint’s partner, Charles Vane, had entered the scene. It was apparent in retrospect that the two were working together, Colonel Rhett had told Thomas. While the trial for the two was underway, the pirates attacked. Flint and Vane escaped in the mayhem, but not before Flint carried out his plan to assassinate Peter Ashe. Then they had turned the massive cannons of the Man O’War on Charles Town. The colony stood no chance against those guns. Nearly every building had been leveled. Dozens upon dozens of lives lost. 

The citizens of Charles Town had first buried Peter Ashe in the wake of the massacre. His daughter, Abigail, had survived. She was en route to Savannah when the attack happened. She had turned back when news reached her of what happened. The town had helped her lay her father to rest and then she had boarded a ship back to England. Thomas was sorry he had missed her. He would have liked to see her again. He couldn’t imagine her as more than the child he remembered from years past but she must be a young woman by now. 

The rest of the dead had been buried by now as well, save one. The female companion of Flint had been left in her coffin in the streets while the town had buried their own first. She had been buried this morning in an unmarked grave. Thomas had seen them dragging the coffin off earlier. A part of him had wanted to stop the men and ask to see her, to see what type of woman would align herself with someone as brutal as Flint. He had not, though, perhaps because he feared seeing her would make her human to him. Make Flint human. And that was the last thing he wanted. He wouldn’t--no, he couldn’t--allow himself to think of them as anything but monsters. Flint had killed his father. Terrorized the seas for years. Defied England with his open hatred for her. And now this Flint had killed the Carolina’s Governor and waged war on Charles Town. 

A war England would have no option but to retaliate to. This was too big, too much not to be answered in kind. 

Thomas steeled himself to the thought of what was to come. The men he had once fought to pardon and give a new life to would now find the full focus of England’s rage directed at them. He imagined many innocents would die in Nassau now, as they died here in Charles Town. That was the ugly truth of life he had come to accept. The least deserving suffered the most while the worst of humankind prevailed. 

Men like this Captain Flint, he thought angrily. 

It was there, on the dirty, decimated streets of Charles Town that Thomas Alexander Barlow Hamilton decided he would rejoin the cause he had once been forced to leave behind. Like Lazarus rising from his grave, he would let his presence be known to all the world. Only this time, it would be against Nassau. The man who had once fought for the pirates would now fight to stop them and end their reign of murder and terror. He would write to his brother Henry about what must be done. It would take little urging to convince Henry to lobby Whitehall against the men who had murdered their father. He would align himself with Peter Ashe’s allies here. He would help rebuild Charles Town. They would fortify it to defend itself from another attack for it was sure to come. 

One day, he knew, this Captain Flint would return to the Americas’ shores. And when he did, he would find Thomas Hamilton waiting for him.


End file.
